Kiss with a Fist
by Wolf Brigade
Summary: 'It's been a while since Anna Barton's come across someone who can kill her in at least fifty different ways. And the way Romanoff is looking at her…like she wants to wrap those slender, black-clad legs around her in a decidedly lethal fashion…it's kind of a turn on, actually.' Avengers AU, Elsanna.
1. She's Long Gone

**A/N: **This takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. These will be short-ish, slice of life chapters. Until noted otherwise, all chapters take place before Iron Man 2. Neither have joined SHIELD yet, as I want them to begin on even footing.

* * *

**She's Long Gone**

* * *

It's all sirens and smoke and screaming. From a rooftop, Anna smiles down at the chaos.

She's spotted her target—the man responsible for detonating the bomb that just exploded. The plain backpack she's brought with her is quickly unzipped and a compact item reverently lifted out of it.

She will never get over how _awesome_ this bow is. It's her child. Her precious little instrument of death and destruction.

With a casual flick of her hand, the bow springs open, unfurling from its center. The next item she pulls out resembles a pen until she pulls on both ends of it, extending until it's the size of a normal arrow. On one end is artificial fletching, meant to stabilize the arrow even when it's under a crippling amount of pressure. She screws a specialized arrowhead onto the other end, placing a smacking kiss on the tip. This particular head was one of her very first inventions and has since become something of a calling card for her.

All set up, she sweeps the bow up and towards her target. He's still running towards her building, presumably to enter the Tube and be lost in a sea of people. Anna easily tunes out the noise around her, sharp eyes honing in on the target with single-minded intensity. The bowstring is pulled back, settling comfortably against her cheek.

"Shine for me baby," she murmurs, loosing the arrow.

The resulting explosion is small, contained only to the target's chest. A gaping hole appears in the space his heart once filled, and he falls to the ground without making a sound. Most of the people around him don't even notice his demise, concerned with their own well-being. All in all, it's a fitting end for a man who set off bombs for a living.

Despite the job well done, Anna can't stop a frown from crossing her face as she packs up. She doesn't feel the rush of satisfaction like she used to. Her freelance work is as sought after as ever, but lately she feels like she's _plateaued_ or something. Like she could be doing something better with her time than offing random terrorists and crime lords after they've already done something horrible. Sometimes she wonders if there's a way she could prevent this kind of attack from happening in the first place.

But prevention means having an intelligence network, some degree of foresight, and espionage skills that are beyond her current level.

It would require more than just _her_, basically. Her bow is the only partner she's ever had, which somewhat limits what she can do.

Chewing this over, she pushes open the ground-level door, brushing a lock of copper hair out of her eyes. She's especially pleased with the ensemble she's put together for this little trip. The shirt she's wearing says '_MIND THE GAP_' in bold lettering, and her jean shorts are dyed red, white, and blue. The baseball hat she's sporting is twisted backwards on her head, instantly making her look years younger than she actually is.

'90s exchange student' is the look she's going for, and she has to say that she pulls it off rather well.

She follows the flow of the crowd, not really bothering to look as panicked as those around her. She never was good at faking fear.

As she's wondering where she can get some decent Indian food before she leaves the city, she notices someone in her periphery moving against the flow of people. She straightens and looks towards the source in curiosity, gaze flickering to the shops lining the streets.

She stops abruptly, causing the people behind her to bump into her. She can't say she really cares, because _damn_. The woman she's looking at is, hands down, the most beautiful person she's ever seen.

Her hair is in a carefully maintained bob, deep red with a hint of curl. The pointe shoes poking out of her tote explain just why her legging-clad lower half is so slender and toned. Her upper body is probably just as perfect, but the zipped up hoodie she's wearing forces Anna to use her imagination.

The woman's eyes narrow in her direction when she realizes she's being blatantly checked out by a stranger. Anna thinks that if she could, the woman would freeze her with those cold blue eyes. The look she's getting is absolutely _lethal_, and it does nothing but encourage a slow, cocky grin from coming over her face.

Anna drifts a little closer to her, noting that the stranger is lengthening her stride, probably hoping she can pass by her before Anna gets too close.

Realizing that the woman will be gone in a few seconds (and not wanting to double back to her crime scene), Anna calls out, "You'd make a killer blonde!"

The words carry over the waves of people and Anna sees the woman tense, though her stride is still fast and determined.

Anna can't help but keep the grin on her face. It's not every day you see someone like that.

Hours later, when she's scooping curry onto a piece of naan, a thought hits her, sudden and cold.

There were always rumors in her business, and no one had more rumors to their name than Black Widow. Hadn't she heard that the assassin-slash-spy was said to be in London now? Of course, Anna always took rumors involving locations with a grain of salt, as she's heard her own name whispered as being on different continents than reality far too many times.

woman was too interesting to _just_ be a ballerina. Maybe that was a cover or something, and she was walking towards the target Anna had taken out...

Anna absentmindedly bites into a pepper, the sudden flood of heat entering her mouth and forcing out all rational thoughts for the next few minutes.

By the time she's eaten a whole bowl of yogurt, she's pushed the mysterious woman to the back of her mind to focus on the remaining food in front of her.

* * *

Elsa failed. She never _fails_, yet here she is, staring at the corpse of Yuri Anklav. He was her final target, the last of four bombers that would have left London in rubble.

The first two had been easy kills; she had taken the first to an alley the night before under the pretense of romance, snapping his neck and hiding his body in the dumpster. She had found the second's hotel room and came for him in his sleep.

But the third had taken too long. He was smarter than the others, rightfully paranoid. He changed his room number at the last second and almost reached reached his destination by the time she tracked him down. She had to disable the bomb in his bag, which had come frighteningly close to reaching its countdown.

That was when the last bomber fulfilled his mission.

She felt the tremor from across the city and immediately made her way to the source, passing bloodied bodies and ruined buildings. Fear is still riding high in the civilians when she finds Anklav, and they shove by her with only escape on their minds.

It's the strangest thing though, Anklav's body…

His heart is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, there's a perfect circle burned through his chest. Elsa searches the debris around him, overturning cement and pieces of glass. She comes up with a piece of material that doesn't fit the surroundings at all—a small, oddly shaped piece of carbon fiber. When she swipes the blood off it with her thumb, she sees a black 'H' stamped into the material.

She clenches the fletching tightly in her hand. Hawkeye had finished her job for her. She stands quickly, leaving Anklav's body where it is. He doesn't matter any more. All that matters is that Hawkeye is somewhere in the city. She knows the marksman won't pose a threat to her, but there's always a heightened sense of awareness that runs through her when another assassin is nearby.

She spares the fletching another glance as she gets up and follows the mass of people. Had she passed Hawkeye on her way here? Her mind flips through each suspicious person that had been under her gaze in the last thirty minutes.

Unexpectedly, she lands on a young woman, the one who looked like a caricature of an American tourist. No one was supposed to notice her during the fallout. She was just to be another face in the crowd. But this tourist, with an easy smile despite the chaos going around her...could she have been the archer known for her pinpoint accuracy?

The thought is brushed away as quickly as it came to her. No, that would be ridiculous. That woman—more of a girl, really— couldn't be anything other than a brazen idiot, probably busy getting drunk before the bomb detonated.

Though her only words, said clearly and confidently, held no sign of liquor on them.

_"You'd make a killer blonde!"_

If only she knew.


	2. New Recruits

**New Recruits**

* * *

The day Elsa steps foot inside the Triskelion is not a good day for her. She doesn't want to be anywhere _near_ the place, and she had to change taxis three times to shake off the tails her old employers have sent to 'look after her'.

SHIELD, while officially being a relatively new organization, has had its people deep in almost every major crime ring and questionable corporation in the world. They gather intelligence, suppress conflicts, and...save the world, if rumors were to be believed.

She knew it would be only a matter of time before they asked her to join them.

Why wouldn't they? Elsa's the perfect candidate for them—she already has her own contacts, extensive training in intelligence operations, and years of experience in the field. What she didn't expect was how _persistent_ they continued to be whenever she declined their offers.

One agent, Coulson, was particularly annoying, always appearing right as she finished a job or was about to start a new one. He once showed up at her residence only to be answered with a gun to his head. From then on, it was public places only. He eventually promised that all he wanted was a single meeting—if she met with SHIELD's director just once, he would leave her alone.

The offer was too tempting to turn down.

Elsa gives the secretary one of the aliases she knows SHIELD has on file for her, and is quickly ushered into a private elevator. The whisper-quiet machine takes her to the very top floor in only a few moments, opening straight into the Director's office.

She looks around the room, eyes not missing a single detail. The mug in front of the Director is chipped, the pen in front of him is engraved with his initials, the framed medals on the walls detail his service to his country.

The man himself cuts an impressive figure—she can tell that he would be over six feet tall if he were standing, his chestnut hair and mustache are carefully groomed, and the skin around his eyepatch is criss-crossed with old scars.

"Director Fury," she greets him, taking one of the two seats across from his desk. "Let's get this over with, shall we?" He should know that she has no interest in joining SHIELD and he doesn't have anywhere near the leverage needed to force a job on her.

"Black Widow," he replies, timbre low and authoritative. "I apologize for starting our first meeting like this, but I'm afraid I must ask you to wait while my second guest joins us."

Elsa stiffens minutely. "Second guest," she repeats quietly, dangerously. Was this meeting a trap? Was that agent plaguing her for months simply setting her up?

Fury's dark eye flicks behind her, toward the elevator. "Ah, here they come now."

Despite her reservations, Elsa turns around to see the newcomer. The elevator dings open and Elsa has to to restrain herself from showing any surprise on her face.

First comes Coulson, who she was hoping she'd never have to see again. His ink-black hair is as unruly as usual, and his glasses hang crookedly across his nose. But he's not the guest Fury was talking about; another person steps off the elevator, wearing a pair of scuffed Converse, ripped jeans, and a green tank top exposing her freckled shoulders.

It's the girl from London. But if she's here, she's not just a girl, is she?

There's a broad smile on her face as she checks out the office. When her eyes land on Elsa, she lets out a whoop. "I _knew_ you'd make a good blonde!" she crows. "Nailed it!"

Well.

Clearly she's crazy.

After responding to that exclamation with a raised eyebrow, Fury says, "I see the two of you have met."

The girl—Hawkeye, because who else could she be—nods eagerly. "London, wasn't it? I see you've branched out from the theater. No more _Swan Lake_ in your future, I take it?" She drops into the chair next to Elsa, smile still in place.

"Sir," Elsa says tightly, ignoring her and turning back to Fury. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I wanted to offer you both the opportunity to work for SHIELD," he answers with no pretense. Out of the corner of her eye, Elsa sees Coulson lingering by the elevator. She wouldn't hesitate to break a few of his bones if he tried to stop her from leaving the room.

"Pass," Hawkeye says, making a face. "I'm freelance only, haven't you heard? I'm only here because _this_ guy," she jerks her thumb towards Coulson, "wouldn't stop bothering me." Elsa hates to admit it, but she can empathize with the redhead where_ he's_ concerned.

"I've told you that you can call me Olaf," the man in question speaks up, sounding aggrieved.

Hawkeye snorts. "No thanks. I wouldn't want you to think we're friends. I said 'no', so are we done now?" she asks Fury impatiently. "I have a plane to catch in a few hours."

Fury puts his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers and steadfastly ignoring what she's saying. "I have your file on hand, Barton." His head turns to Elsa. "Yours too, Romanoff. They're quite...interesting...to say the least."

Both Elsa and Hawkeye tense; it's an utter taboo to use real names in their profession, especially in front of potential competitors.

"Dude, not cool," Barton mutters under her breath.

"The name is _Director_ Fury, not 'dude'," Fury says, pushing back his chair and leaning over his desk in a classic display of dominance.

Barton simply shrugs, unfazed. "My bad."

_She has no respect for anyone, does she?_ Elsa thinks in disbelief. She's never seen someone so blatantly not care. How the hell has she survived in this world when her personality was so..._idiotic_?

Fury slowly sits back down, not breaking eye contact with Barton until the last possible moment. "If I may," he continues pointedly, "let me tell you why I believe the two of you will be a good fit for SHIELD."

* * *

Anna is...intrigued by what Director Fury is saying, despite not wanting to be. She wasn't lying when she said she was only here because _that_ guy was always right around the corner, and always at the most inconvenient times. He almost got an arrow to the eye when he showed up at her apartment, but the whole 'employed by SHIELD' thing means she isn't allowed to kill him. She does _not_ want to make enemies of this organization.

She refocuses her gaze on Fury, who's still going on about ethics and obligations, and he maybe even uses the word 'evil' once or twice. It's all meant to appeal to her sense of justice, which has to be grayer than most would consider normal.

But this is what she's been thinking about for almost last year now. Working for SHIELD could be a great thing if she wants to actually finish her missions _before_ things get nasty. She could act instead of react.

Next to her, Black Widow...Romanoff...doesn't seem too impressed. Of course she wouldn't be. From what she's heard, the woman's been a Russian spy practically since birth, though her recent movement has been harder to track.

Anna side-eyes her. Romanoff's lithe form is tense, ready to uncoil at a moment's notice. Slender legs are clad in black jeans and she's wearing simple top that shows off a smooth collarbone. Her white-blonde hair is wrapped up in a tight, meticulously-made bun (Anna's eighty percent sure it's her real color).

She thought she'd feel a sense of awe and wonder by being in her presence. After all, this is Black Widow, who's pretty much a living legend in their shared field.

Instead, she feels...confused. There's interest, obviously, but now she knows exactly where that interest might get her (hint: the bottom of the Potomac). That doesn't stop her from pushing Romanoff's buttons though. She didn't think it would be so easy to rile her up, but apparently she's only a good actress when she has a part to play. When she's just Romanoff, her emotions surface easier, become more apparent.

And her main emotion when it comes to Anna seems to be irritation.

Anna smothers a grin. She can work with that.

"...and Romanoff," Fury is still talking, though he's probably realized Anna tuned out a while back. "How many people died in the London bombing?"

Romanoff exhales softly. "Forty-nine," she answers quietly, "with seventy-two injured." Anna knows the number is accurate—she always watches the news after an incident such as this, because even if it wasn't her fault, she still counts those deaths as her own.

She wonders if Romanoff does too.

Fury's eye bores into Romanoff's. "You could have prevented that if you had backup of any kind," he states bluntly and with no judgement, "but you worked alone, like you always do. SHIELD knows how both of you operate and we would be willing to accommodate you...to a certain extent."

"What about benefits?" Anna blurts out because hey, it's a valid question. It also takes some heat off Romanoff, but that's just a bonus.

Fury looks like he's trying very hard not to snap the pen on his desk. "I can assure you that it is well above what you currently make. I'm assuming both of you would want to live off base. We would be willing to give you extremely generous stipends that would cover the cost of most anything in the city."

Anna lolls her head towards Romanoff. "What do you say? Hardwood floors, granite countertops...oh! And we could get some of those silk sheets I know you love—"

"—_separate_ stipends, Barton," Fury interrupts her fun. "You wouldn't be living together." Romanoff allows some relief to slip through her mask at that.

_What a killjoy._

"And we'd have our own training room, too?" Anna goes on, nonplussed. "I don't want any starry-eyed interns stepping where they might get an arrow through them."

"I thought you had nearly one-hundred percent accuracy," Fury says, sharpening his (frankly unnerving) gaze on her.

Anna's answering grin is all teeth. "I do, which means I _really_ don't want any interns in the same gym as me."

If she's not mistaken, Fury almost cracks a smile. "But Romanoff's okay?"

"I think she can handle herself decently enough," she answers, grin effortlessly shifting into a smirk.

It's been a while since Anna has come across someone who can kill her in at least fifty different ways. And the way Romanoff's looking at her…like she wants to wrap those slender, black-clad legs around her in a decidedly lethal fashion…it's kind of a turn on, actually.

Oh, yeah. Now she _definitely _wants to see more of Romanoff.

Anna claps her hands together. "What the hell, I'm in. Sounds fun."

The Director nods stiffly, like he might already regret offering her the job. "What do you say, Romanoff? Do you want to make a true difference in the world?"

Romanoff straightens even further in her seat. "If I'm ever stationed on one of those helicarriers you're building, I want my own room."

_On the what now?_

A short huff of disbelief escapes Fury's lips before he stands and holds out a hand. "You've got a deal."

Romanoff gets up in one smooth motion and shakes his hand. "Good. Just know that if you try to cross me...I know much more than that."

Fury's hand is still outstretched when Anna takes ahold of it. "Good to meet you!" she chirps.

She joins Romanoff and Coulson, who are waiting for the elevator. "Oh, one last thing," she says, turning back to Fury. "What happened to your eye?"

He pauses in his movements, an unreadable look passing over his face. "An archer did it. There's a chance you'll see him in the field during your stay at SHIELD."

Anna can't contain her excitement. "Awesome! That guy must have some amazing aim."

The room goes deathly quiet.

Anna thinks she can hear Coulson holding back a strangled sound. Romanoff turns her head slightly, staring at Anna like there's something _completely_ off about her. Like she's an alien doing a really shitty job of impersonating a human.

The elevator _dings_ open.

"Get the hell out of my office," Fury nearly growls, ushering them into the small space and depressing the 'close' button.

When the three of them are safely away from the Director, Coulson clears his throat, sounding a little dazed when he murmurs, "...I think that went well."

* * *

**A/N: **Since this is mainly intended to be a superhero slice of life, feel free to send in some prompts for what kind of hijinks you'd like to see Hawkeye and Black Widow get into. Once the characters are a bit more established, I'll see which prompts I can fulfill.


	3. Professional Curiosity

**Professional Curiosity  
**

* * *

Anna didn't picture her first two weeks with SHIELD to be so...unexciting. She thought there'd be bullets and explosions and crazy superhumans to fight against. Instead, she's had three different doctor appointments for various tests, and a mountain of paperwork to go through. Papers with such cheery acronyms as 'DNR', 'NDA', and 'WBD' (she still has no idea what that last one is; hopefully she didn't end up signing away something important).

On the plus side, the new gym is _awesome_. It's on one of the Triskelion's top floors, and the ceiling is at least fifteen feet high, criss-crossed with metal rafters. The space itself is huge, and the walls and floor are completely covered with gymnastics mats.

Anna quickly learned that she could order pretty much anything she wanted the gym to have and it'd show up within the next twelve hours. The first few things she ordered were innocent enough; a couple punching bags, some paper targets, and a few tools for her weapons that she was too lazy to track down on her own.

They all appeared, causing Anna to wonder just what she _couldn't _have. Her requests became more extravagant—ropes to hang from the ceiling and slacklines stretching from wall-to-wall, a personal trainer (whom she quickly fired for being unable to land a single hit on her), a holographic enemy system to fight against...strangely, administration drew the line at the installation of a foam pit, which actually bummed Anna out.

From what she can tell, the only thing Romanoff ordered was a single sparring dummy. Anna hasn't seen much of the blonde woman since Fury's meeting, despite the fact that neither of them are active until their lab tests and paperwork go through. Romanoff, if she actually uses the gym, must only come during the ass crack of dawn.

And so Anna sets her alarm for 4:30 one morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of Black Widow exercising. Out of nothing but professional curiosity, of course.

(And to see what Romanoff looks like when she's sweaty and panting...out of personal curiosity.)

To her great surprise, Romanoff is actually in the gym, beating the shit out of her sparring dummy. Anna almost drops her coffee when Romanoff spins with one hand against the floor, and then launches herself feet-first at the dummy. Her thighs wrap around its neck, squeezing until the head actually _pops off_.

Which is wow, kind of terrifying. And also strangely hot. Whatever, Anna has long since made peace with her fetishes; what's wrong with adding another to the list?

"What are you doing here?" Romanoff's cold voice echoes through the gym. While Anna was daydreaming about those thighs, the blonde had been eyeing her with thinly-veiled disdain.

Now that Romanoff is stationary, Anna can better see the tight, black tank top she has on. She wears it like she's doing it a favor, and it eagerly contours to her curves and flattens against the muscles of her stomach. Her pants are equally wonderful, and Anna wonders if she's ever seen legs so freaking _gorgeous _before.

"Answer me, Barton." Her name carried along on Romanoff's impatient voice startles her out of her oogling.

"My bad, Elsa," she drawls, taking pleasure in causing the barely noticeable muscle twitch near Romanoff's eye. "I thought this gym belonged to both of us."

Romanoff stalks closer to her, until Anna can make out the faint freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. "Don't you _ever _say my name again," she says lowly, threateningly.

The words would probably work on someone else, but they don't faze Anna much. Thanks to all the paperwork she had to sign, she knows that _Elsa _Romanoff can't hurt a fellow SHIELD agent without being buried under a mountain of consequences.

"I know you know my name too," Anna says instead, trying to sound rational for once. "We're not that hard to find once a surname has been given. Fury probably _wanted _us to know each other better. That's why he called us into his office at the same time, and that's why we have our own private gym. We're gonna be _partners_, Romanoff."

Elsa leans away from her, looking displeased. "I don't do partners."

Anna rolls her eyes. "I'm not asking you to _do _me, Romanoff, though I must admit that it would be pretty awesome. I'm just saying it's inevitable; you're a badass and I'm definitely a badass. And together, we'll be even more…" she narrows her eyes, trying to find the right word, "_badasser_."

Something between a laugh and a scoff escapes Elsa's throat. "You're the most ridiculous person I've ever met. How could I possibly be partners with you? You'd kill us both in an instant."

"Did I miss something?" Anna asks, feeling a little miffed, "Did we not get inducted into the same super secret agency tasked with taking down bad guys? I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Elsa doesn't seem amused by her _Star Wars_ quote. Instead, she looks even _more _annoyed. "I don't care how good you think you are," Elsa says, lips curling in contempt, "we will _never _work together."

With that, she turns on her heel and walks towards the door marked 'Locker Room', not looking back once.

Anna watches her leave, a thoughtful frown on her face. She knows that despite whatever reservations Elsa has, Fury will want them to work together eventually. Elsa is smart; she too knows that their partnership is going to happen.

She heads over to the sparring dummy and picks its head off the floor. "Romanoff chewed both of our heads off today, didn't she?" Anna puts the dummy back together, securing the head to the neck. Giving it a pat on the cheek, she adds, "Don't worry about it; tomorrow's a brand new day."

* * *

When Elsa goes to the gym the next morning, she senses she's not alone. She looks up to the rafters, somehow not surprised at seeing Barton hanging upside down from a support beam.

Barton gestures towards a target with the hand holding her bow. "I have to know every angle I might be attacking from."

To think she'll someday have to put her life in the hands of this absolute _idiot_...

An arrow _whooshes _through the air in front of Elsa, hitting the dead center of the target. Elsa looks back to Barton, who is in the middle of doing a flip off the beam and landing gracefully on the floor mats below.

Okay, maybe that was kind of impressive, but it doesn't _change _anything. Barton (_Anna_, a voice whispers in Elsa's mind) is still hot-headed, immature, and completely unprofessional in every way. One trickshot won't make her opinion waver.

Strangely, Barton ignores her presence as she goes to check the target. She stops when she's almost nose-to-nose with the paper before releasing an unhappy huff. "The calibration's still off…" she murmurs as she pulls the arrow free.

Elsa raises an eyebrow at the change in Barton's demeanor in the last twenty-four hours, but heads to the locker room to change into her workout clothes. If Barton can be civilized for once, maybe working out with her occupying the same space won't be so bad.

When she comes back out, Barton is playing around on one of the slacklines that showed up out of the blue. Elsa knows all about SHIELD's ordering system for the gym, but she doesn't yet trust them enough to request anything—even her dummy came from her apartment.

She sits down and begins her series of stretches. Each is meant to optimize certain muscles, warming them up while ignoring ones unnecessary for today's exercises. Curiosity gets the better of her several times and she finds herself looking over to see what Barton's up to.

The other woman is still on the slackline, bouncing up and down on it like it's as easy as walking. After gaining some altitude, she leans backwards, looking like she's about to fall on her back. The line catches her and she twists upwards in a barrel roll before landing on one foot. Over and over she does this, adding flips and spins, landing on the line with her feet, back, and stomach. There's never a moment where Barton looks like she's going to fall, and her eyes even seem to be closed most of the time.

The movements are mesmerizing in their thoughtless elegance, and Elsa freezes when Barton opens her eyes and peers over at her. "Can I help you with something?" the redhead drawls, falling on the line and letting it catch her, posing with one leg stretched in front of her and a hand placed seductively above her head.

Elsa quickly averts her gaze, not bothering to answer her. She starts her own routine, running towards the dummy and spinning underneath its legs. She grabs the knee and _twists_ until she hears it pop out of its plastic socket. Next she goes after the arms, then the lungs, before finally turning her attention to the vulnerable head.

If her movements are sharper, more emphasized than usual, well...it doesn't have anything to do with Barton, that's for sure.

Anyways, it's not like Barton is even paying attention to her. Instead, she's off in the corner, at a small workstation that definitely wasn't there yesterday, tinkering away with her bow. Apparently _she _doesn't have any qualms with being in SHIELD's debt.

Despite her misgivings about Barton, Elsa can't help but wander a little closer to her workstation. Barton's eyes flick upwards when Elsa gets within ten feet of her setup. And it _is _a rather impressive setup—there's a myriad of tools, wires, arrowheads, and other materials (including a burnt-orange block that looks suspiciously like semtex) scattered across the three tables.

Barton impatiently puts her bow on the table and crosses her arms. "Okay, seriously? I haven't even bothered you today," she grouses, "There's no reason to come over here and tell me how much being my partner would suck."

Her words leave Elsa feeling amused. "Maybe I just want to see what you're working on. _If _we end up being partners, I don't want you to get us killed." She's aware that Barton was right about what she said yesterday; it's only a matter of time before they end up working together. She wants to make sure Barton will uphold her end of their missions.

Barton looks suspicious, as if expecting Elsa to suddenly lash out at her. She shakes her head after a moment. "Whatever makes you feel better," she says doubtfully. Surprising Elsa, she proceeds to give her a rundown on her workstation. "This is where I fix my bows and arrows. I'm a natural sharpshooter, but real world conditions can still fuck anyone over. That's why I'm always prepared for the worst. My bows are all stabilized differently, with different draw weights depending on the distance I'll need to be shooting. I also make my own arrows, which come in a variety of flavors. Happy now?"

Elsa glances over the tables with renewed interest. "You actually make your own arrows?" It's becoming hard to reconcile the differences between the goofy, moronic Barton and this one, who's serious and focused on her work. Maybe the real Barton was replaced in her sleep by an actual, functioning human being.

"I can make more than arrows. I'm no Hans Stark, but if you give me a weapon, any weapon, I can paint a bullseye on your heart from a hundred yards away." The confidence Barton has in herself is impressive, and it doesn't seem to be misplaced. Maybe SHIELD wasn't entirely wrong in hiring her.

"Even a boomerang?" Elsa quips, not quite sure why she's bothering to trade remarks with Barton. Didn't she decide after London that she's bad news?

Barton's lips quirk upwards. "I actually do have a boomerang arrow. Comes back every time."

Elsa narrows her eyes at her, trying to decide if she's joking or not. Before she can reply, Barton says, "You know you can use the holographic system I had installed, right? There's more to the gym than that poor dummy you've been beating up."

The offer catches Elsa by surprise; _nobody _offers her anything without expecting something in return. She waits for Barton to add her conditions, but the other woman just looks at her expectantly. "I'll think about it," Elsa says stiffly.

Anna grins. "Good. After all, _when _we end up being partners, I wanna make sure you won't get us killed."

With that, she picks up her bow back up, along with an arrow, and aims towards the other end of the gym. She releases the drawstring a few seconds later, and the arrow buries itself into the heart of Elsa's sparring dummy. Anna tilts her head in consideration, mumbling something to herself, before she picks up a screwdriver and gets back to work on the bow.

Elsa gives her one lingering look before going back to the dummy. Nearly half of the arrow's shaft is nestled in its chest, and it takes her more than one tug to get the arrow out. She twirls it around in her hand, admiring the weight and feel of it.

Against her better judgement, she heads over to the holographic panel and sets the display for three armed men. They flicker into being, circling around her and ready to strike.

With the arrow clutched in her hand, Elsa makes the first move.

* * *

**A/N: **Whoo, some slight progress (note when Elsa finally starts to call Anna by her first name rather than her last). For those wondering, 'WBD' in this universe means 'whole body donation' (meaning that if Anna dies in the field, SHIELD gets to do what they want with her body). 'Semtex', one of the materials in Anna's workstation, is a type of plastic explosive, similar to C-4.


End file.
